Thursday, August 27, 2009

If anyone out there ever pays any attention to the latest fashion, they might have noticed that for some bizarre reason, 80s stuff is back in.
I know that everything comes back in style after twenty years, but I was hoping that the 80s might get overlooked and we could stay in the 70s revival a bit longer*
There wasn't much I liked about the 80s and the clothes were particularly vile in my opinion. Everywhere you looked there were women wearing shoulder pads that made them look as though they'd been doing the wrong exercises at the gym, and the clothes were so garish a clown would fit right in at a party.
And now, once more, shops are full of strangely-shaped skirts in shades of day-glo yellow, and acid green, and I don't like it one iota.
One item I espied the other day brought back some particularly nasty memories. It was a tight, white, leather skirt with the hem finishing just below the knees rendering anyone who was daft enough to wear it unable to walk without shuffling along like a Geisha. And it brought back bad memories because I had one just like it.
One evening I decided to wear it to a party near Strand on the Green. I foolishly teemed it with a pair of red stilettos which meant that walking was something to concentrate on if I didn't want to fall over.
My friend and I caught a bus that got us about quarter of a mile from where we wanted to be, and as it was a gorgeous evening we decided to take the scenic route, and walk along the bank of the Thames.
We were making good time until a rather large Alsatian bounded towards us. A hundred yards or so behind was its owner calling him back, but the dog was not listening.
Instead it came right up to me and began sniffing.
Next thing I knew it had its nose up my skirt and I was in peril of toppling off my high heels. I managed to stand until the fucking thing bastard dog decided it was bored with that and decided to try shagging me instead.
I screamed so loudly that some people walking along the road came over to see what was going on, only to find me on the ground trying to get away while my friend was bent over laughing hysterically.
After what seemed an eternity, the dog's owner finally managed to get the beast off me and my friend managed to stop laughing long enough to see if I was alright.
I think I whimpered when I saw that tight, white, leather hobble skirt in the window, and it took me some time to relax when I saw an Alsatian after as well.

*Say, the next forty or so years.